Sir John filled his glass with trembling hand. The gun flew from his hand, clacking on the floor. She glanced into her companion’s face, and she saw there strange things. ‘Because I’m a female,’ declared Lucilla unanswerably. She was gone. "Had I not been the guilty wretch I am," he cried, bursting into an agony of tears, "she would never have died thus. An unhappy little sigh escaped her. But then—Oh! Madam, there are moments—moments of darkness, which overshadow a whole existence—in the lives of the poor houseless wretches who traverse the streets, when reason is well-nigh benighted; when the horrible promptings of despair can, alone, be listened to; and when vice itself assumes the aspect of virtue.
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